Wednesday, February 23, 2022

Scenes from a Sports Bar By Matthew Johnson

Before the ball or puck drops to begin play,

Fist-pumps waft in the air like the scent of potato skins,

Gliding off the treys held by passing waiters and waitresses.

For a moment, fans of rival clubs 

Snarl the cruelest of languages at each other,

And point with the pointiest and most pointless of index fingers

At opposing chests and faces.

But long before things get too heated or too much, 

As does happen with strangers holding shared loves, 

Opposing fans laugh together, and become so friendly by being so inebriated,

The drunks begin to act like long-lost brothers.

Matthew is a northern transplant living in NC and a MA graduate of UNC-Greensboro. A former sports journalist and editor who wrote for the USA Today College and The Daily Star (Oneonta, NY), his poetry has appeared in Maudlin House, The Roanoke Review, the Maryland Literary Review, the South Florida Poetry Journal, the Front Porch Review, and elsewhere. He's a two-time Best of the Net Nominee and his debut collection, 'Shadow Folks and Soul Songs', (Kelsay Books) was released in 2019. His second poetry collection, 'Far from New York State,' is scheduled for release in Fall 2022 by New York Quarterly. 

Twitter: @Matt_Johnson_D 


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